


Lucid Nightmare

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Consent, Darkfic, Doubting Reality, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamwalking, Emotional Intimacy or Die, Fluff, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Poetry, Prisoner Castiel, Rhyming, Road Trips, Romance, Running Away, Sharing a Bed, Siren Castiel, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, Unconventional Format, Unsettling, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: there's fire in this city //sirens, ghosts, and earthquakes //one night, you protect me //and we run until dawn breaks //Or:A spooky, fluffy, mind-warping existential-themed half-fic half-poem, in which Dean saves siren!Cas from a real-life waking nightmare and drives him to Bobby's house for safety. But as Cas reveals more about himself and his past, Dean comes to realise he has to let his new winged friend enter his mind and dreamwalk, or else Cas will die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me, about this fic: ???????????????????  
> Basically I'm having a month-long existential crisis, and somehow this was easier to write than real words.
> 
> (My thanks to Libby and my sister [Amara](http://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/) for looking this over for me~)

_And once you are awake, you shall remain awake eternally._  
— Friedrich Nietzsche

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“Look, don’t worry about it, Sammy. It’s one straight road, there’s never usually any traffic. Sun’s shining, dust ain’t kicking up too much. I’ll be there by morning.”

“ _Promise you’ll take breaks, alright?_ ” Sam pleaded.

Dean grinned into his cellphone. “You worry too much, little brother.”

“ _Promise me._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes to the roof of his truck, still smiling. “Whatever. Fine. I gotta stop to get gas anyway, the tank’s running low.” He tapped the gauge behind the steering wheel. The arrowtip flickered, but remained hovering close to ‘empty’. Dean’s hand returned to the wheel, guiding the truck halfway around a pot-hole. The wheels jumped from the road, bumping back down and jostling Dean in his seat.

“I’m gonna go,” he said, holding the phone between his stubbled cheek and his shoulder. “I’ll call you if I get held up.”

“ _’Kay. See you._ ”

Dean slid his phone into his hand and ended the call without looking. Eyes on the endless road before him, he sped up, one hand reaching to turn up the radio.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

See, things started normally.

They did not continue that way.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Dean figured the remoteness of the area was to blame. First his radio signal went all patchy, and refused to be tuned no matter how much he jiggled the settings. Then the AC died, and he was forced to open the windows, letting dust particles sting his eyes. He could smell smoke on the wind, like a distant bonfire.

Then the sun went behind the clouds.

Usually on a desert road, a little cloud cover just made for easier driving, with no scalding-sunburnt hands to worry about. Only this time, perhaps the clouds were weighed heavy with rain, or perhaps pre-dusk was simply an odd time for clouds. They shaded the dryland in pink and purple, making everything gloomy, but not dark enough that Dean needed to turn on the truck’s headlamps.

Humidity started to build. Dean’s throat felt tight, but he tossed down a gulp of water from his flask, took his jacket off, and was done with it.

Through grey mist which appeared to rise from the ground, Dean saw a green light. Then a white light, then a blue light. The closer he came, the more he thought the sight looked like Vegas – a flashing, pulsating city of electric entrapment.

The road offered no turnings, and he wondered if he’d missed an intersection; he never remembered seeing a city on this route before.

And it was a _city_. Not a town, not a village. It was tall and twisted, built with steeples and spires; a javelin to the sky. A modern-day Minas Tirith, Dean imagined. He’d never seen pictures of this place.

Surely they had a gas station.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

The streets were laid out the way they were in Old West movies, which excited Dean. He strolled down the centre of a red-dust road, kicking out his bowed knees, one thumb in his belt loop, one carrying an empty fuel container. He wore his most serious expression, mostly for dramatic effect. Inside, he was squealing.

He wished he had a camera – but as he pulled out his phone, he found it glitching, freezing before he could even unlock it. He tried turning it off and on again – yes, standing in jeans and flannel in the middle of a deserted street at dusk – but the phone stayed dead, and that pissed him off.

He looked around for an electronics store, but found all the store names were... blank. Wiped clean. Bare wood had never been painted.

Weird.

Maybe this was a movie set. Hell, if it wasn’t, it ought to be.

He watched actual tumbleweed roll past his boots, and he chuckled to himself.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

The second street Dean wandered down was much like the first. The third, in parallel, was the same.

He started to get a tiny bit freaked out. On the one hand, this was cool as hell, and he’d never seen anything like this before. But the basic, primal instinct within him told him to get the fuck out of here. He ignored it; there was nobody around, and he was a head taller than most people, anyway. He wasn’t exactly defenceless if anything should happen.

He just needed a can of gas, dammit. He batted the empty fuel container against his legs while he stood around to think.

He looked up, marvelling at the greatness of the city before him. It towered, and it loomed, but now he looked from up close, all its coloured lights seemed to drift, as if they weren’t attached to lampposts, or apartments – or _anything_ for that matter.

Ghost lights. Bobbing on air like buoys at sea.

Chills began to descend Dean’s spine, and his hand grew weak around the handle of the fuel container.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Dean retreated back to his truck, one hand on the green dome of the hood, reassurance, _reassurance_. He could drive away without fuel but he’d only get ten miles before capping out. He tried again to turn on his cellphone, but the screen only flashed with text, garbled – Dean caught the word ‘ _awake_ ’ before it dove back into the darkness within, and the screen remained blank.

“God-dammit,” Dean uttered, scowling, eyes squeezed shut. Phone dead. Gas empty. Weird spooky ghost town at the foot of a weird spooky city. This was a freaking nightmare, what the hell was he meant to do now?

He looked around one last time, hoping, praying he’d find some salvation.

And there it was, along a wall,  
Cut into a bower:  
A shining window, its crest high and tall,  
Selling snacks, knick-knacks, and firepower.

Dean drifted forward, as if in a dream,  
Unable to believe his luck.  
Hell, if he could keep his damn engine running,  
Maybe he _wasn’t_ completely fucked.

He pushed open the door, which rang a bell,  
And he heard the shop seller chime,  
“Welcome, there, traveller— Look around for a minute,  
I’ll be with you in no time.”

Dean filled his basket with goodies, grinning all the while.  
Milk Duds, Reese’s, some bags of Lay’s, a can of soda for later.  
He grabbed some gum, then strode up to the checkout,  
But alas, he never made it.

His attention caught on something,  
A sight wholly out of place.  
He dropped his basket, he dropped the fuel tank,  
And the blood drained from his face.

Underneath a convex mirror,  
In the corner of the store,  
There knelt a man, naked, _chained_ ,  
Hair dark, skin scarred, eyes devoid of valour.

Dean trembled where he stood,  
Lips parting, now truly scared.  
He looked around for the store clerk  
But he saw nobody there.

He expected another ghost, or a demon, or some bizarre trick,  
But when nothing happened, he broke his stupor and moved quick;  
He dropped to his knees before the chained man,  
And asked, voice breaking, “Can I give you a hand?”

The man was bruised, wasting away, clearly almost starved.  
But worst of all, red marks on his skin had apparently been... carved.  
“What the hell happened, dude?” Dean whispered, breathless.  
The closer he looked, the more he saw: symbols, like ancient runes, or religious hexes.

Slowly, carefully, the broken man lifted his chin,  
And he spoke gently, rasping, choked by his chains.  
“My name is Castiel,” he said, though that wasn’t what Dean asked.  
“Get out of here, stranger – the daylight will not last.”

Dean, frowning, turned to look back over his shoulder.  
Indeed, the sun had undoubtedly sunk lower.  
Dusk was upon them, and though it came fast,  
Dean couldn’t help but turn back and ask,

“What do you mean?” he pressed,  
Eyes wide and staring.  
“What happens when it gets dark?  
There somethin’ around here I’m meant to be scared of?”

Castiel lowered his chin,  
Blue eyes intent, gazing deep.  
“Whatever you do, stranger,  
_Do not fall asleep_.”

Dean felt sweat in the palms of his hands.  
Shit – he had to get _out_ of here – go, just drive,  
Foot down on the gas until the truck sputtered and died.  
At least, even ten miles away, he might still be alive.

“Come with me,” Dean uttered,  
Speaking straight without blinking.  
“I won’t leave you here, alright?  
Help me with these chain links.”

Castiel shrunk away from Dean’s hands,  
Weakly resisting his efforts to free him.  
“ _What_?” Dean demanded, glaring furiously at the guy.  
“Don’t you _wanna_ get out? You’re starving. Stay here, you’re gonna die.”

In all his life, Dean never expected the very thing he saw next.  
Castiel drew back his broad shoulders and took a deep breath,  
And there, from his back, rose a sight that impressed.

Wings! Big and mighty,  
Like a bird’s, perhaps an eagle’s  
But giant, with feathers of gold and umber;  
Undoubtedly regal.

Dean was moments from passing out, too shocked by the sight.  
Terror and excitement made his vision flash white,  
He struggled to breathe, eyes locked still with delight.  
Castiel was beautiful—

But now, it was night.

Lights began to flicker, like the power was being drained;  
The roof began to rattle and the walls began to cave,  
From deep underground, Dean heard a great howling, like thunder,  
And the snacks on the shelves were tossed to the floor by the hundred.

Dean reached down to his belt and pulled up his blade,  
Flicking the knife from its protective leather stockade.  
Though Castiel yelped, and struggled, eyes seeming to plead,  
Dean cut him loose, paying his resistance no heed.

Dean held out one hand, as the other sheathed the knife,  
And despite his arguments, Castiel swallowed his strife:  
He stood on shaking legs, grasping Dean’s bicep, hand white,  
And together they stumbled, afraid, into the night.

The streets were full of ghosts now,  
Each glowing in a rainbow spectrum.  
Creatures cheered from the rooftops,  
Leaping between them as spectres.

Eyes followed Dean, hanging in mid-air, shining red.  
Dean led his refugee angel through a chorus of the dead  
Despite his fear, despite his thumping, pounding heart,  
Fully expecting death, expecting a war to start.

Castiel held onto Dean’s hand, dragging his wings through the dust.  
Yes, he was weak, but _God_ , did he show trust.  
He knew nothing about Dean, about the person he was,  
He only knew Dean’s need to save people, be a hero; needs must.

“Come on!” Dean encouraged, as the ground tore agape.  
The road opened up, but then continued to shake.  
The sky was flashing in auroras of light,  
And all the creatures were screeching – some shadows, some bright.

Dean pelted down the dirt road,  
Dragging Castiel in his wake,  
But kept checking back  
To make sure the angel was safe.

There was the truck, just within sight—  
They navigated fields of ghosts, to the left, to the right.  
Whispers chased them, sliding in from all sides of the town,  
Hysterical laughter echoed someone’s nervous breakdown.

Only now, with vision lit by crazy, fantastic beams,  
Did Dean realise that Castiel’s wings were not as they seemed.  
Yes, they were golden, and yes, they were brown,  
But over that colour, in crimson paint they’d been drowned.

Red slashes draped the feathers in a grisly, bloody coat,  
And Dean was sure that someone had scrawled a one-word quote.  
Later Dean would ask, should they make it out together,  
About the word, painted on Castiel’s innermost feathers.

Yet, he did not have to wait long, or have to run far,  
As moments before they could reach the car,  
A hailstorm of fire began to rain down from the sky’s core,  
Flaming white rocks – a fearsome, _burning_ downpour.

Fireballs? A meteorite storm?

Dean couldn’t believe—

No, this couldn’t be real. No way this kind of thing happened, except in make-believe.

He had to be dreaming. He had to wake up. He had to get his head on straight, these incidents didn’t link up.

“Hurry,” barked a voice, from not far up ahead: the angel, the freed prisoner, panting, wings spread. His eyes were intense, his hands reaching out. He wanted Dean to go to him, there was pleading in his shout: “Please!” he called, “I don’t want to die. They’re coming for me— I was never meant to fly.”

Dean didn’t know what that meant, but he could easily guess. The city was crumbling, and _he’d_ caused all the mess. Dean had just wanted to help, he’d seen someone hurting— He’d never realised reality could be this disconcerting.

But was this real? Or was this a dream? Here he was, just standing still, while a winged man screamed—

Wings flared out, cast wide and _huge_ ; a fireball burned his lowermost feathers in yellow hues. Castiel turned his face down and away, eyes closed from the blast... Somehow Dean was okay. Protected, preserved, shielded from certain death. An angel had saved him. All in one breath.

Like blood, but glowing, the paint caught the light. Still Castiel spread himself, still keeping Dean from the fire. As the light did not dull, and it did not dim, Dean could see the word ‘ _TRAITOR_ ’, in all caps, the word broken around him.

Dean met Castiel’s eyes, and in flames, they shared a moment: knowing, intently, that the other was holy. They’d tangled together in a strange, unknowable way, but together, hand in hand, they’d make their escape.

Dean made sure his grip was tight, and though his heart was thrumming in fright, he led his guardian angel though the blaze. They resumed their path to the car, which now shed its charred glaze.

Dean knew all too well that they’d never get far.

Despite his intentions, there was still no fuel in the car.

Castiel opened the door on the passenger’s side to sit, his wings spread out, tucked behind Dean so that they’d fit.

Dean revved the engine, hands stinging raw. He flooded with relief as the engine sputtered, then lifted in a roar. He put his foot to the floor, and with his pulse in his mouth, he charged his truck straight through phantoms, heading due south.

He stopped for nothing, not even to breathe; he just looked to his right and was giddy with relief. There was Castiel. A stranger, more or less. But an _angel_ , a brave one. One who had a lot to confess.

Dean figured he should start. “Um. Thanks, by the way.” He cleared his throat, which was something he did whenever there was too much to say.

“You saved my life first,” Castiel said, in objection. Dean noticed his eyes only watched the reflection: behind them was the city, still great and monumental. But it was terror for Castiel, where he’d been denied the fundamental.

“What the hell happened back there?” Dean asked, still feeling weird. He frowned, still lost, still buzzing with rational fear.

Cas didn’t answer. Dean didn’t know what he’d seen, whether it was real or fake, from ghosts, to fireballs, to a full-on _earthquake_. It all seemed too crazy, like a made-up, fictional delusion. But at the same time, it felt too tangible to be just an illusion.

Something of it lingered. Like a poem, or a rhyme. He wasn’t thinking the same way, as he thought back in time. Everything seemed garbled. Like something infected him. Maybe it wasn’t over, maybe driving away wasn’t a win.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Castiel said, for a second time. He looked at Dean with a terrible burden in his eyes. “I’ve seen others come before, they never make it out alive.”

“Am I dead?” Dean asked, truly wondering if it was true. “Did I do something wrong? Look, I was halfway to Sioux. I was gonna meet my brother, and Bobby. He’s like... our dad. Seriously, Cas, if I died on the way there, Sam’s gonna be _so_ freaking mad.”

“Cas?” Castiel repeated, with a curious tilt of his head. Dean looked back, biting his lip, distracted by the red.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, eyes turning back to the dark lane. “You got some kinda problem with that name?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said, with crinkles beside his eyes. “It’s just that I don’t know your name. Knowing would be nice.”

Dean grinned, though he still felt unsettled by the situation. “Name’s Dean. Dean Winchester. I’m, uh, kind of... between occupations. I’m just a _guy_. I just wanted to get some gas. I never asked to get lured into some – magical overpass.”

Castiel chuckled, a funny, uncommon rumble. His eyes sparkled, and when he looked at Dean, the look seemed... humble. “You’re not dead, yet, Dean,” he assured him. “But capture won’t be far behind. Keep driving, don’t stop. They move in straight lines. Take a turning. The first turning you see. Keep driving until dawn, or until you reach the sea.”

“What’s coming?” Dean asked, his tone harsh and imploring. “What the hell are we running from, Cas?”

Castiel went quiet. “Dean... I think that’s a question you’d rather not ask.”

“I’m the one driving,” Dean scowled. “I’m the one roped in. Sooner or later, my patience is gonna run thin. Worse – the tank’s nearly empty. Cas, we ain’t gettin’ far. I hate to tell you this, man, but we are gonna die in this car.”

“Oh, ye of so little faith,” Castiel smiled, shooting Dean a sly gaze. “With a celestial in the car you could keep going for days. Not that you’d need to. Just get through the night. Dawn comes, we’re safe. We just have to wait for daylight.”

Dean’s eyes watched the horizon, but was all too aware that the light on the mountains would always be there. It wasn’t new dawn, nor was it old dusk. It was the lightness of cities, sometimes gentle, sometimes brusque.

“What _was_ that place?” Dean asked, quiet and dazed. “It wasn’t like anything... I’ve ever...” He trailed off, amazed.

“A dark nightmare city,” Castiel said, without worrying how that would sound. “A dream within reality, luring travellers to their doom. A home to sirens. Wing’d folk. And me.”

Something about Castiel’s speech sounded different. He’d missed a beat. First its echo in Dean’s head seemed wrong, like an unredeemed line in a poem. But as Dean processed Castiel’s words, they sounded normal. Just words. Just a sentence. It wasn’t meant to rhyme.

“You,” Dean said.

“A traitor.” Castiel said the word proudly. “I tried to warn innocent people. Like I warned you. The store you entered was a facade of my creation. The voice of the clerk you heard was mine. I managed to speak to you before they did.”

“Other angels, you mean,” Dean supposed.

“Not angels. Sirens. We _were_ guardians once.” Castiel swallowed, clearly ashamed of what they’d become. “I’ve tried... so many times. So many people, Dean. They _become_ us. Those spirits you saw are lost souls. They get hungry and want more... friends. And there’s always cars on this road. Tired people in need of something. Something we pretend we have.”

Dean watched the road rolling under the wheels, lit by the headlamps. Moths fluttered into view, then were sucked through the car’s slipstream, left behind, dizzied and disoriented. Those moths probably felt the way Dean did now. He couldn’t explain his experience to himself, let alone prepare a story for Sam and Bobby.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

They came to a river, its tumbling surface glazed white by the moon. Dean helped Castiel out of the car, both hands holding on. Cas was strong, but he’d been beaten down, cut, burned, graffitied. Now he was finally free from his chains, he welcomed Dean’s assistance without putting up a fight.

Dean helped him into the shallows of the river, and bathed him, water cupped in his hands to pour over the siren’s back. Despite knowing what he really was, Dean couldn’t help but think of Castiel as an angel. They’d saved each other. They were each other’s guardians now.

Castiel’s wings spread through the water, curling against the current. Even in inky darkness Dean saw the red paint washing away. The slur on Castiel’s inner wings faded, then crumbled to mere smears of colour.

“C-Can I...?” Dean asked halfway, ashamed to articulate the rest.

Castiel looked up, moonlight reflecting in his eyes. “Can you what?”

Dean breathed uneasily. “S— See your wings...”

Castiel lifted the waterlogged appendages out from his body. They were each twice the size of him, which was truly impressive, given Castiel was over six foot tall and quite athletic. Had Dean not known Castiel was sweet-tempered, he might have been afraid.

Castiel tucked in his wings and turned his back, letting the moon catch the droplets of water on his feathers, sparkling all the way down his naked spine. He was awesome, in every sense of the word.

“How are you even possible?” Dean asked, breathless, one gentle hand grazing the bulk of Castiel’s wingspan. “If sirens exist, what else exists?”

“As I said before,” Castiel murmured back over his shoulder, “Some questions you’re better off not asking.”

Dean used his damp hand to rub away paint speckles, watching them swirl in the water, soon swept away into the centre of the river. Castiel turned around again, letting Dean wash his inner feathers too, where the majority of the paint residue had been left. Somehow cleaning there seemed more intimate, given he and Dean were face-to-face.

Dean tried to hide his blush, but consoled himself, thinking it was only natural to fluster. He’d not only met the single most incredible being he’d ever met, or surely ever _would_ meet, he was now standing nude with him under the open night sky, waist-deep in cool water. Castiel’s breath was warm on Dean’s shoulder, his hands were steady on Dean’s elbows, and he did not flinch, he did not disallow a touch, nor did he say it was too forward when Dean whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

Castiel’s gaze was soft on Dean’s. “I know,” he said, sadly. “I wish I wasn’t.”

Seeing Dean’s obvious confusion, Castiel explained, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone. But I am a _siren_ , Dean. I was created to distract you, and entice you, and ruin you.”

“What happens when you don’t?” Dean asked. “What do you do with people when you catch them? What do you need us for?”

Castiel cast his eyes away.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Dean didn’t want to know.

“Oh,” Castiel chirped suddenly, joyful.

Dean looked down, and laughed gently. A hundred little silver fish had swarmed around them both, tickling, kissing Castiel’s wings. Dean imagined all manner of fauna would be naturally drawn to him, the same way Dean was. Gorgeous, sweet celestial manifestation.

“Won’t the paint make them sick?” Dean asked realising the fish were finishing his job, cleaning up the red smears. “I know it’s colourful, but it ain’t fish food.”

Castiel glanced up at Dean. “Fish? These aren’t fish, Dean.”

Dean frowned. He looked again—

Leeches.

Dean yelped and staggered back onto the riverbank, scooting back on his hands. He slapped away hungry black slugs from his legs, from his waist, panting. He got up, wanting to run back to the car. But he couldn’t leave without Castiel. For one thing, the car wouldn’t start without Cas in it.

Castiel watched Dean carefully, cognizant of his fear. “Remember you’re awake,” Castiel said. “Whatever you think you see, it’s not real. You don’t have to be afraid. You can take control, Dean. Look again.”

Dean hesitated. But he trusted Castiel’s word, even when it made so little sense. So Dean looked again.

The leeches...

They were just silver sparkles. It was magic, like a fairytale. It was fairy dust.

Leeches must’ve seemed like a more obvious thing to imagine, after fish. Siren magic was a bit beyond what Dean had even known before. “How can I be sure?” he asked, anxious. “How do I know what I’m seeing is real?”

“Look twice,” Castiel assured him. “Whatever it is, however you perceive it, look twice. Dreams always seem real when you’re inside them. Learn to doubt everything.”

“What if I doubt I’m awake right now?”

Castiel smiled. “Good. You’re good at this.”

“No, really,” Dean said. “I don’t know any more, Cas. Fish made sense. Leeches made sense. Magic siren sparkles? That’s what I’m seeing, I’m doubting it with everything I’ve got, yet it’s still there.”

“You have been awakened,” Castiel said serenely, blessing his sparkles with a touch, sending fish or leeches or sparkles on down the river, dancing on the water’s surface. He waded back to the edge of the river, and took Dean’s hand to climb out. He stood, wings pouring water onto the grassy rock. “Once you’re aware of truths in your world, you can’t easily go back. Well... I say truth,” he smirked, tilting his head in a playful way. He took the white sheet Dean offered, something he kept in the trunk to keep the sun off meltable snacks. “Even awake, there’s no trusting that what you see is real.”

“Jeez,” Dean muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “Way to give a guy an existential crisis. Are we living in the Matrix, or what?”

“I don’t... understand that reference.”

“Shared unreality, right? Or we’re all rattling around inside one of those space balls at the end of _Men in Black_?”

Castiel just stared, blinking.

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Guess you don’t get Netflix in the siren city.”

Castiel thought about it, then said, decidedly, “No. We don’t.”

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

As Castiel recommended, they drove. They took turnings off the road, they stopped mid-track and did an about-turn, driving circular grooves into the desert sand. Dean supposed he’d gone and put an immense amount of trust in Castiel. Even after hearing Cas was a non-human entity, born of a species raised to lure humans to their death, Dean let him lead. He put more faith in a comprehensible voice than he ever could with weird lights and creepy laughter. Cas was friendly. Fireballs were bad. Dean didn’t need to be aware of his role in the grand scheme of the universe in order to pick a side, he just needed a little common sense.

The windshield still had a massive crack down the middle of it. After an hour or two, the fist-sized meteorite on the hood stopped glowing. Dean checked it, and double-checked it, and could determine that the rock was definitely _there_.

Eventually Castiel gave the go-ahead, and told Dean to drive on to his original destination.

Dean took the long way around. No way he was going back through the nightmare town.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“I tried to fly away,” Castiel said, after midnight passed, as the road slipped under them. The truck ran fuelless, powered by magic. “I tried to leave the city. But I leave and the spell is broken, Dean. Humans must never escape, those were the rules. Now you’ve seen me. You’ve seen the face of a siren: a person seemingly like you, but with wings.” He frowned, fingers fretting at a loose thread in the sheet he wore like a toga. “Sooner or later the world will see. I’m a threat to my kind, wanting to expose them all as the predators they are. I tried to fly away.”

“They tied you back down,” Dean said, nodding. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel went quiet, watching the view outside the car. He looked at the stars, and slowly began to smile to himself.

Dean watched him for a short while, then turned his eyes back to the road. Endless, endless road.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Warmth began to comfort Dean. Soothing... soft. Doziness felt pleasant. He’d been driving all night, with no need to stop. Castiel’s stories sounded like fairytales, aiming to make Dean drift off the same way he had as a child, whenever his mother read to him.

Whatever you do, Dean, no matter how long you drive,  
There’s only one thing left that’ll keep you alive.  
No matter how soothing, no matter how it creeps,  
No matter how close you are, _you must not fall asleep._

Listen to me, Dean! Keep your eyes on the road.  
Find a rest stop, we’ll get some food and reload.  
Keep your head up. Take a deep breath.  
If you let your chin drop you’ll drop to your death.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“They’re powerful,” Castiel admitted. His eyes lingered on Dean’s chest, afraid to meet his eyes. Stark fluorescent lights gleamed from a 24-7 shopping centre, draining both their tanned faces of colour. Castiel swallowed, adding too quietly, “They will catch you whether you’re physically near them or not. They have the power to invade your dreams. That’s how they trap their prey. They’ll sing you to sleep, and once you’re asleep... well...”

Dean took a deep breath, held it, ponderous. Then he released it all at once, shaking his head. “I’ll be honest, Cas, none of this sounds real. Nightmare sirens catching me in my sleep? Kinda far-fetched.” When Castiel took a frustrated breath to snap at Dean, Dean hurried to say, “Look – I’m not saying I don’t believe you. There’s a fucking _space rock_ on my hood and we just drove two hundred miles on an empty tank. I’m just wondering, why do you even want to help me? What makes you any different than them?”

Castiel shook his head, shrugging, looking away. “Preying on humans never felt right to me.”

“Bullcrap,” Dean chuckled. “Nobody’s _that_ caught up on right or wrong. Your moral compass is designed by the people around you. Your siren pals think it’s good to mess with humans, you’re not gonna believe any different, not without outside influence. What happened, _really_?”

Castiel looked miffed for all of four seconds, then his shoulders dropped, and he sighed. “I always liked to talk to people, the humans who came to the city. The other sirens do too, but for them it’s less of a personal interaction than a... group monologue, with everyone singing to one person at once. Sometimes... when I talked to a human alone... the humans talked back. And I made friends.” His voice became breathy, strangled, “A-and then...”

“Then your new friends were...”

“Gone.” Castiel spoke that one word with an enormous amount of grief. “You were the first person I ever managed to save.”

“I’m not saved yet,” Dean said. As if to prove his point, he yawned, jaw wide. “I’mma get some snacks. Stay put.”

“Stay safe,” Castiel replied. He gave Dean a look that said he meant it with his whole heart. Dean had rarely been cared about that much. Felt kinda nice.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Dean got caffeinated coffee, protein bars, and plenty of sugary treats. But most importantly of all, he bought some gas for the car. As epic as it was to have his truck running on nothing but siren power, it was frankly a concern of his that the engine might not fare too well, churning out magic sparkles instead of exhaust fumes.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“Sammy?” Dean held the phone to his ear, squinting his eyes, as if that would help him hear better. “Sam!”

“ _Dean? Buh. Wait. What’s happened, are you okay? It’s— It’s one in the morning, what—_ ”

“I’m fine,” Dean breathed, grinning. His eyes moved to Castiel, and he smiled wider. “I’m good, Sammy, I just wanted to check in.”

“ _Uhhh. All right?_ ”

“Tell Bobby I’m bringing a friend,” Dean added, eyes locking to Castiel’s, sharing a fond look. “We had to take the long way ‘round, we might show up later than expected.”

“ _Okay. Who’s the friend?_ ”

“His name’s Cas. You’ll like him,” Dean smirked. “He’s, uh... different.”

“ _‘New imaginary friend’ sort of different, or ‘I just robbed a zoo enclosure’ sort of different?_ ”

Dean chuckled, glancing at his lap with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “You know, it’s kind of hard to pick between those. Hang tight, you’ll meet him soon.”

Castiel leaned closer, and Dean offered the phone towards him. Castiel flinched, but then relaxed, speaking to the phone. “Hello Sam,” he said.

“ _Um. Hi... Cas, right?_ ”

Dean grinned and set the phone back to his ear. “Go back to sleep, Sam. See you in the morning.”

“ _See you. Drive safe._ ” Sam ended the call with a yawn.

Castiel smiled at the phone as it went blank. “Your brother worries about you a lot. You must worry about him, too.”

Dean snorted. “You can say _that_ again.”

“Your brother worries—”

“I didn’t mean literally, Cas.”

“Oh.”

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Listening to the way the music played...  
It felt like Dean had been driving for days...  
Still four hours until the sun would come up,  
But that time never changed when he looked at the clock...

Castiel tried a Snickers bar, but said it tasted strange;  
He was starving, Dean knew it, he was starting to fade.  
Dean asked how long it had been since he last ate  
But that wasn’t something Cas wanted to backdate.

“I don’t eat food,” Cas expressed, far, far too gently.  
Dean gazed at him slowly, thinking intently.

“So what _do_ you eat?” Dean asked, expecting an answer.  
But Cas wouldn’t reply, and his silence was cancer.

They didn’t speak for another hour, and hell, it _scared_ Dean.  
He turned up the radio but it was nothing comparing  
To the sound of his voice, the puff of a breath;  
Dean could only think about the closeness of death.

The road went on, the road got narrow,  
The silence was deafening and continued to harrow.  
Finally Dean lost it, and he snapped, “Alright, Cas—  
That’s _it_. Give me answers, or I’m tossing your ass.”

He wouldn’t really. He wouldn’t make Cas walk.  
But shit, it killed him that Cas wouldn’t fucking _talk_.  
Cas looked at Dean now, with sad, sky-blue eyes,  
And Dean panicked, realising the siren was going to cry.

“I’ve killed people,” Cas whispered, as tears begin to flow  
Slick down his cheeks, each one rolling slow.  
“I had to take part. If I didn’t eat, I’d die.  
I _had_ to. I’m so sorry, Dean. I— I lied.”

Dean swallowed, affected. There was cold sweat on his back.  
He shook his head and kept his eyes on the track.  
“What did you do to them?” he asked, dreading the reply.  
But all Castiel could do now was sigh.

“Tell me,” Dean insisted. “Cas, I need to know.”

Finally Cas lifted his head, and spoke, voice hollow:  
“My kind feed on fear. We _were_ angels, in centuries past.  
We were meant to protect one person each,” he admitted, at long last.

“So what happened?” Dean asked. “What happened to them all?”

“We found easier ways. We built a city, and then a wall.  
We don’t have to _protect_ them, some of my kind decided.  
Just prey on the lost, the hungry, the drunken, the misguided.

“We lure humans in, show them something they want,  
And we feed on their fear. We scaremonger. We... haunt.  
We’re ghosts, Dean. _Sirens_. Not angels.  
We lead the innocent to corruption and _children_ to danger.

“With just one charge per angel, we used to protect,  
We’d feed on night terrors until dreams played out, perfect.  
But when a thousand of us feed on just one human, between us,  
It never takes long before greed and sloth defeat us.

“It drains people. Your kind can’t survive without fear.  
And bereft of your minds, you’re left... weak, and austere.  
People die within minutes. The corpses rot away.  
And empty souls live on in our city. Despite everything... they stay.”

“So you eat bad dreams,” Dean repeated, concluding.  
“That’s all?” he breathed, sad at the sight of Cas brooding.  
“You’re okay, buddy. I’m sorry they’re all dicks.  
But hey, at least you can say that’s not how _you_ get your kicks.”

“I want to be better,” Castiel said forlornly.  
“I hate what I did. I’ll always be mourning.  
“But there’s something that you have to know... Dean—  
There’s something I haven’t told you about me.”

Dean took a turning, heading towards the next town.  
He nodded the go-ahead, but couldn’t lift his frown.  
He was in too deep already, he knew it all too well.  
For all he could determine, he was under a siren spell.

“We’re night creatures,” Castiel said. “You have to know—”  
He took a shaken breath, and then let it go.  
“We’ve been driving all night, but you’re not aware of the stakes.  
Dean, I’m going to die the moment dawn breaks.”

Dean tapped the brakes, head turning in shock.  
“What the hell, Cas? I mean— What the _fuck_?!”

“I haven’t eaten,” Castiel cried. “I’m weak, and I’m _thin_.  
I’ve used so much power getting out of that hell we were in.  
I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to tell you.  
I’m not the kind of person who could just _compel_ you—”

“Compel me to do what?” Dean demanded, voice rough.  
“What’dya want, Cas? Drink my life force? Suck my blood?”

Castiel laughed, as though that was actually amusing.  
“Nothing like that,” he promised, “Nothing like what you’re accusing.  
I just need to dreamwalk inside someone’s nightmare.  
But I’m frail now. I cannot just do it from... elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Dean intoned, curious despite his doubts.  
“The hell does your strength have to do with your whereabouts?”

“Other sirens can invade you from far, far away.  
They’re still singing to us, Dean, that’s why we’re both speaking this way.  
I can’t do it like that, now. I’d have to be close.”

“But if you don’t—?”

“I’m – as they say – ‘toast’.

“This is the one thing the other sirens forever lack,”  
Castiel smiled, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back.  
“They never ask for permission, they just take what they need.  
I want your consent, Dean. First you have to agree.”

“So you wanna share a bed or somethin’?” Dean asked, flushing red.

“If that’s what you’d prefer? Then yes,” Castiel said.

“I— I didn’t mean...” Dean started, but stuttered and delayed.  
He was blushing. It was weird. “Cas, I dunno what to say.”

“Do you want to, or not?” Castiel asked, with kind, friendly patience.  
“I realise I’ve only just made your acquaintance.  
If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine.  
I’ve lived long enough. I’d welcome death, if I were to die.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Dean growled, in hearty distaste.  
“Come on, man. I like you. Your life ain’t going to waste.  
We’re a couple hours from Bobby’s house. We can do... whatever – then.  
Jeez. At least Sam already knows that I’m bringing a friend.”

Castiel’s eyes sparkled, and Dean noticed his eyes welling.  
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean muttered, compelling.  
Castiel gulped and quickly pulled himself together  
But Dean could see that he was grateful.

And he would be grateful forever.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Dean drove a little faster. A little faster. He broke the speed limit on straight roads, thankful there were so few other cars. Yes, they were two hours away from Bobby’s house. But there were also only two hours remaining until dawn, and Dean had to account for the morning commuter traffic, and the fact he’d have to leave time to drift off to sleep before Cas could get inside his dreams.

Dean may have been tired enough to nap at any given moment (not the safest way to drive and he knew it), but ever since he was a child, he’d slept better in a car than in a bed. But nightmare invasion – dreamwalking, whatever Cas called it – that was the kind of thing that required a bed.

Why? Dean asked himself.

Well, it just _did_.

Okay, maybe Dean kinda liked the idea of snuggling up in bed with an angel. Siren. Whatever. If this was going to be their first time, he wanted it to be nice and comfortable. Not quick and dirty in the backseat of the car. Everyone else he was attracted to got to tussle in the backseat like it was a prize. Cas was different.

Ugh. All right. Fine. Maybe Dean could admit it to himself. He wanted it to be _romantic_.

Because screw it, Cas was cute, and badass, and polite, and he was clearly into some weird shit, and Dean was into people who liked weird shit. Plus... wings.

It wasn’t like Dean had a crush or anything. He knew perfectly well he was just infatuated right now. But if Cas stuck around, maybe wanted to dreamwalk a few times a week... Hey, who knew where things would go.

Dean had no shortage of nightmares. Once Cas got inside his head, Dean could probably feed him five kinds of terror with a platter of despair on the side. He’d be tubby before he knew it. And in Dean’s books, an endless supply of good food, offered freely in exchange for good, joy-inspiring company? That was a recipe for a mutually rewarding, long-lasting relationship, right there.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Drive faster, sweetness, your angel’s time is running out.  
Don’t leave room for worry, second thoughts, or self-doubt.  
Don’t think too hard about it, because then you might come to see  
That he’s played you like a love song, sweetness.  
Just drive on.  
Be carefree.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“Sioux Falls,” Dean said quietly, indicating his turning as he pulled down the main street. “Bobby’s place is some way out from here. Not that far.”

“How long until we get there?” Castiel asked. Dean heard the anxiety in his voice.

“Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.” Dean didn’t need to add that dawn was the same amount of time away.

Castiel had explained to Dean that, similar to the creatures of vampiric legends, sirens were exhausted by sunlight. That was why daybreak would be their save point. Come dawn, the sirens’ hold on Dean would shatter. They’d retreat to their city, hide, shut their eyes, and they wouldn’t sing to him any more.

But Castiel was as weak as he could be. He was separated from his hive, starved, injured. In his case, come dawn, he might immediately expire. That threat only solidified Dean’s decision to drive fast. They needed a safe, dark place, without windows. A place like home.

Castiel shifted in his seat, tensing and untensing his wings. They were warm at Dean’s back, and oddly comforting. They smelled of river water, but it wasn’t stale or muddy, just fresh. Bitterness sat at the back of Dean’s tongue.

The closer the sun came to the horizon, the more the sky glowed. Now Dean could see the birds darting between the trees, crows swooping up in arcs over the cornfields. The further from the town they got, the more birds Dean saw.

“When I was young I dreamed of being like them,” Castiel said under his breath. His eyes were trained on a goshawk, watching it survey the land from high over the road. “Birds, I mean. Look at them. They live so freely. I share these appendages with the birds, but I’ve felt like a prisoner for so much of my life. I’m nothing like them.”

“You feel the same now, or...?”

Castiel shrugged. “I learned to embrace my otherness. I was never meant to be a bird. Sirens’ wings are a power status, a symbol of beauty. After centuries in the same city, they became decorative. Hence the destruction of my wings as a punishment. They’ve been clipped. I couldn’t fly if I tried, now. The thought makes me very sad.”

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,” Dean assured him, even though it felt strange to say so, given what Castiel was going to eat. “And clipped wings grow back eventually, don’t they?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel carried on watching the birds. He rolled down his window to listen to their dawn chorus, eyes closed.

Either this was the first time he’d heard birdsong, or he expected it to be the last time. When Dean next glanced over, he saw tears running down Castiel’s cheeks.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Oh, how much you trust him, you silly, naive thing.  
Don’t you see? There’s no relief or comfort _left_ that he can bring.  
He’s a siren, honeybunch. He’s gone and used his power up.  
You lie with him and he’ll drain you. Your heart is going to stop.

He thinks he has some self-control, but you don’t know him, sweetness.  
You think he’s fragile, weak? Tired? Perhaps fearless?  
No. He’s a monster, just like us. He hasn’t changed.  
You’ll find out soon enough.  
Winchester, bear witness.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

“One minute. One minute, Cas, _hang on_.” Dean spoke under his breath, wishing he could reach to hold Castiel’s hand. Castiel’s head was lolling, and his face had paled. The sun was edging the horizon; Dean saw the very faintest of golds outlining the mountains. His heart was thumping in his ears, blood in his throat. He was scared for his friend. Scared he wouldn’t make it.

“Please, Cas, we’re almost home. We’re almost there. We’re gonna make it.”

Castiel moved his mouth as if to speak, but his lips were colourless and thin, like the flesh had melted from the inside. He was growing smaller, physically, as if retreating back into his own body.

Dean couldn’t go faster. He was tearing up the road as he went, burning out the last of the fuel in the tank.

“We’re so close, Cas, don’t you give up on me,” Dean growled, blindly reaching to touch Castiel, hand to his chest. “Come on, angel. Come on.”

“D...ean,” Castiel breathed. His voice was almost drowned by the engine. “Th... Thank you...”

“No! Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.” Dean shook his head, blinking madly to clear the tears. “Don’t you fucking dare. I don’t know how old you are, I don’t care – you are _not_ dying now.”

With that, Dean put his hand back on the wheel, slammed the brakes, twisted the car into Bobby’s driveway. They went so fast Dean almost drove up the wall of scrap cars, slushing dirt at them so hard their paint chipped. The truck roared into the open parking bay, stalling as it skidded. Dean didn’t bother to cut the engine before flinging open the door, grabbing Castiel under the arms and hauling him out.

“SAAAM!” Dean yelled, voice echoing in the pre-dawn simmer of cicadas and startled birds.

Lights came on inside the house. Second floor. Third floor.

Dean struggled to get Cas over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. With dragging wings, he was the weight of two men, and would’ve been three if he had any meat on him.

Dean staggered heavily towards the porch. Stomp. Stomp. Scuffed boots on the dirt, feathers trailing softly over the treadmarks.

Sam opened the door, bleary-eyed. He gasped in shock, and his eyes widened.

“Where’s the nearest bed,” Dean grunted. “I gotta sleep. Cas is dying. Long story.”

Sam was a quick thinker, even in situations that would’ve reduced most people to a panic. “Second floor, first door. I put new sheets on the bed for you.”

Without asking questions, simply wearing a beguiled, baffled kind of expression, Sam helped Dean carry Castiel’s limp body up the stairs. Dean whispered sweet nothings to him all the way, “Everything’s gonna be fine, keep breathing, I’ve got you. Sam’s got you. You’re gonna be fine, Cas. You’re gonna be okay.”

Castiel’s eyes remained closed. Dean was sure he was still alive. He would’ve _felt_ something if he wasn’t.

Castiel hadn’t said anything about guardian angels being _destined_ for one person, but he had said each siren was _meant_ to protect one person. Dean believed he was the one for Cas. He had to be. They were tied to each other by fate and acts of selflessness. Cas wasn’t meant to die. Dean was meant to help him.

“On the left,” Sam reminded Dean, as they reached the first landing.

Bobby emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe with striped pyjamas underneath, his thinning grey hair a wild mess. He was struck by shock at the sight of Castiel, and Dean saw his eyes fully from under his always-low brow, but Bobby, like Sam, said very little.

“The _hell_...”

With a sigh, Sam helped Dean lay Castiel gently on the bed, under a sloped wooden roof. Bobby turned on the lamps so they could see.

Cas made an odd picture, a toga-wrapped angel lain over plush white floral covers, the kind Bobby’s wife liked to collect. Under Castiel’s neck, Dean slid a round pillow, ignoring the clean robe which slid to the floor right away.

Dean stroked Castiel’s face, full of concern and anguish.

Castiel only had the strength to breathe out over Dean’s wrist. His breath was cold.

“Leave us,” Dean said to Sam and Bobby, chin turned to his shoulder. “Whatever happens, don’t wake us up.”

Dean hesitated, knowing deep down that there was a chance that either himself or Castiel might not resurface from this. Maybe neither of them would.

“If I never see you again—” Dean looked back at his family, giving them a tight-lipped smile. “I, uh. I love you.”

Bobby looked at Sam. Sam stared at Dean.

“Go,” Dean said, shedding his flannel shirt, undoing his belt.

Sam retreated, eyes still on Dean. Bobby closed the door behind them. The house fell silent, save for the birdsong from beyond the double-curtained window. A blue dawn had broken, but the golden light from the lamps kept the sunrise at bay, for now.

Dean climbed into the bed beside Castiel, still wearing his t-shirt and jeans. He wrapped his arms around Cas, feeling – most strangely – that he’d been here before. He’d loved Cas before. He’d held him before, in some other life, in a fantasy—

A dream...

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

The thing about dreams, is that people never remember them until they wake up.

Dean could’ve been living a life right now, existing within some other realm, and he wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t be aware of a single thing until he opened up his eyes, found himself staring at the white-painted rafters, and recalled all the things he’d done in his sleep. All the people he’d talked to, all the funny little details he’d remembered from his childhood. A toy he played with, some kind of textured octopus plushie. A friend whose name he couldn’t remember. A joke he laughed at on TV, humour which didn’t really hold up as he got older. Someone wearing a mask. Taking the mask off. Wearing the same face underneath.

He wouldn’t know if he felt fear. Perhaps his sleeping body struggled against invisible bindings, but he wouldn’t remember why until he woke. Perhaps he gasped for air, drowning in a room where the ocean poured in. He never realised he was afraid of that. It felt so real. How the hell would he know what drowning was meant to feel like? How did his body know? Why could he _feel_ it?

Gasping, gasping, gasping. Tight throat, full mouth, slow hands. Fading light, too far above. Heavy, sinking.

Sinking.

Nothing left to gasp for.

... _Sammy_...

A hand around his wrist. Yanked up, up with a slosh of water into the rowboat. But this wasn’t Frodo and Sam, it was Dean...

Dean and...

Something strange. Something new. Something beautiful, and smiling.

Dean caught his breath, and he smiled back. “Hey,” he said. But he wouldn’t remember until later.

“Hello, Dean,” said the angel, with great big wings of gold and umber.

The angel’s name was Castiel.

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

Castiel took a gentle, measured sip of coffee. Elbows on the table. Eyes cast down, steam twirling in his face.

The meteorite sat quietly on a plate in the middle of the table.

Everyone was staring.

Dean moved a little closer and tugged the blanket tighter around Castiel’s hunched shoulders. He felt a warmth in his chest which ached a bit, in a good way. Pride, affection. When Dean looked up, he smiled at Bobby.

Bobby took an unsure breath. “So,” he said, folding his arms, eyes peering out from under the brim of his baseball cap. “Sirens, huh.”

“Yep.” Dean pursed his lips and patted Castiel again, squeezing his bicep. “I’m guessing there’s more out there. Angels, demons, what have you. Werewolves, probably. Vampires. Giant spiders.”

Sam cringed. He sat opposite Castiel at the kitchen table, nursing his own coffee, which he’d forgotten to drink. He tried not to stare at Castiel’s wings, but Dean didn’t blame him for failing. Even though they were damaged, they were gorgeous things.

“All that, and worse,” Castiel said, after a pause. “Although, there _are_ plenty of perfectly ambivalent creatures, too. But even the most bloodthirsty species are less destructive than humans. You truly are the worst.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bobby grumbled.

“I like some of you,” Castiel said sweetly, looking up at Dean with unmistakable affection.

Dean smirked.

“And I’m sure I’ll come to appreciate the rest of you in time too,” Castiel added, looking at Bobby, then Sam. “Your coffee is quite tolerable, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” grunted Bobby.

Dean leaned his hip against Castiel’s shoulder, one hand snaking all the way around behind his neck. “Cas says he won’t need to eat that much again, just a little bit every night until he gets his strength up. But, uh. I was kinda hoping— I mean, if it’s okay with you, Bobby— Maybe he could stick around. Maybe we both could. It’s not like I have a job to go to these days, y’know? Could give you a hand in the garage if you want,” Dean said, with a one-shouldered shrug. “Cas said he’ll help out with the housework, too. Right, Cas?”

Castiel put down his coffee cup and took a breath, eyes rising to meet Bobby’s. “I would very much like to peruse your library, Mr. Singer, if I could have your permission. There are so many books, and I’ve wanted to read books for so long but I’ve never had the chance—”

“Do what ya like, Feathers. Just keep your private business to yourself, and clean your bird fluff outta the plughole when you’re done with the shower, and we won’t have a problem. Got it?”

Castiel nodded dutifully. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Dean grinned widely. “You know Cas is like, ten times older than you, right, Bobby?”

“I don’t give a damn how old he is, it’s my roof he’s livin’ under.”

Sam and Dean shared a smile. Everyone got the same treatment at Bobby Singer’s house.

Dean watched Sam’s eyes move to meet Castiel’s. “Cas,” Sam said, “I think that’s Bobby’s way of saying thank you. For shielding Dean from the fire. And for – you know – not draining him of his life force while you... _ate_. You both slept for twenty-four hours, we didn’t know when to start worrying. Especially since we’d just been... awakened. As you put it. We spent the whole day in awe of this space rock, here, and your wings. It was a lot of information to handle all at once.”

Castiel lowered his head bashfully. “You shouldn’t have to thank me. I wouldn’t ever hurt Dean voluntarily.”

“Your siren friends don’t seem to think that was true,” Dean muttered. “They were singing to me that you’d kill me.”

“I couldn’t be certain that I _wouldn’t_ ,” Castiel admitted. “I... I can’t express how glad I am that I didn’t.” He gave Dean a sorry, tired look. He wasn’t doing much better than before, but with all the windows blacked out, and a full day and night of nightmare-eating behind him, he was stable.

Without really thinking, Dean’s thumb grazed across Castiel’s chin. They both smiled, dazedly recalling the same gesture from a dream, one of hundreds they’d shared while dreamwalking. Dean truly felt like he’d spent a lifetime knowing Cas, being his friend. More than that. A hundred lives they’d lived. A handful of times, Dean had been his lover. Once, his child. Once, his parent. Sometimes a brother. But every time, his friend.

Dean blinked, remembering himself. “Uh,” he breathed, dropping his hand from Castiel’s face, stepping away. “Okay. I— I’m gonna.” He pointed vaguely towards the library. “Yup.” He backed away, trembling and hoping nobody could see.

He walked straight through the library and into the dark hallway by the stairs, stopping there with his face in his hands.

A hundred shared dreams did not amass to a lifetime. A story about a man afraid of flying, and an angel afraid of falling— That was not Dean’s life. But it felt so real. They all felt real. He felt old, like he’d passed on, reborn, over and over. The universe had ended, restarted, and each time, Dean was different.

But every time, he found Castiel. He found his guardian angel.

Sometimes Dean had a different car. A sleek black Impala, not a green truck with a meteorite dent in the hood. Sometimes Dean was a girl. Sometimes Sam was the older one. Sometimes Bobby died, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes Dean and Castiel got further in life before meeting, sometimes they were born in the same instant.

Twenty-four hours of sleep, and Dean had dreamed forever. He didn’t know how to process it. He’d invited Castiel into his mind, and in doing so, he’d invited in _everything_ else.

Dean was sure this was what happened in Cas’ head all the time. Endless possibilities.

Life spawned fear; they came hand-in-hand. Without fear, nobody would have any sense of self-preservation. And Castiel feasted on the fear, removing it and leaving behind the good stuff. Dean only remembered the good stuff upon waking.

That was what was missing, Dean realised. All these lifetimes he remembered, they were not his own. Why? Because they were fearless. _This_ was his reality, and it was drenched in everyday darkness and terror. Fear lived within him, thriving over things as small as a phone with a dead battery. He’d still suffer nightmares, and that made the sweet dreams even sweeter.

“Dean?”

Dean inhaled, dropping his hands from his face and quickly turning. “Hey. Cas.”

Castiel approached, blanket still held around his shoulders. His folded wings bobbed behind him, towering a foot over them both. “Are you okay?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. Then he shook his head.

Castiel gave him a look that portrayed his empathy perfectly. “What do you need?”

Dean chuckled unsteadily. “Hell knows,” he muttered, face turned down. “Two days ago I was driving to see my brother. Now I’m... _awake_. There’s a whole world of creatures out there and nobody knows they exist, Cas. What do I _do_ now? Y’know? What do I do with all the _stuff_ in my head?”

Castiel smiled. “You could write a book?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“I’m serious. Write fifty. It doesn’t matter if no-one believes you, Dean, so long as your words are spoken. I learned so much from the people I talked to over the years. They’re gone now but—” Castiel lowered his eyes and breathed. “But I remember them. I want other people to remember them. Even if it’s through made-up stories.”

Dean reached to adjust Castiel’s blanket, at a loss for anything else to do.

They were quiet for a while, standing close, sharing a cloud of breath.

Then Castiel leaned in and kissed Dean’s cheek.

Dean’s eyes widened, tracking to meet Castiel’s.

“That wasn’t the first time I’ve kissed you,” Castiel remarked, the smart-ass. “I remember you, too.”

Dean bit his lip and lowered his chin, giggling to himself. He was tingling from head to toe.

Softly, Castiel leaned in again and anointed Dean with another kiss, half an inch closer to his mouth.

Dean swallowed. His grin faded, but the tingles became fire. Warmth. Glowing, happy gold.

Slowly he looked up, and he and Castiel gazed at each other for a while. One more lifetime passed by. It was a good one, too.

Dean touched his lips to Castiel’s, for the first time, or the hundredth time. Castiel brought him into a hug, and they smiled together as the blanket slid away, pooling around their slippered feet. Dean’s hands dragged around Castiel’s waist, holding his lower back, feeling the muscles either side of his spine. Each vertebra of his spine, hand moving up. The back of his shoulders, where his wings were rooted, t-shirt cut open to let them stand tall.

Fingers twisted into the curls of hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck. Soft lips. Bristly cheeks. A happy smirk, one Dean knew all too well.

When Dean pulled back, he was flaming from the inside. He didn’t know when they’d moved on from infatuation, but this wasn’t a petty crush. Dean _knew_ Cas. Castiel had taught him everything there was to know, in a dream, all at once. No wonder Dean felt old.

Castiel smiled his awkward, sideways smile, fingers stroking Dean’s cheek.

Dean looked twice, just to check this sight was genuine. Just in case it wasn’t.

Castiel was still there when he opened his eyes. Thank God. This was real, and constant.

Where they’d go from here, Dean had no freaking clue. But for now, he could be satisfied, with their love reborn anew.

They had so much to explore, both in reality, and in dreams.

“Wanna share the bed tonight?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “By all means.”

**» · · · ∞ · · · «**

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that! I hope you liked the fic!!  
> And if you did find it remotely terrific  
> I'd be much obliged if you were to click  
> The kudos button ♥  
> (Or leave a comment; be specific~)
> 
> Besides that, [my last fic can be found here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9526484),  
> (It's about depression and things Cas needs to hear)  
> And if you wish to disappear  
> Into the tumblr blogosphere  
> Then [do go right ahead, my dear](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (Okay I'll stop now)  
> ([My other fics are here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works), pls subscribe if you want more)  
> (I hope you have a good day~)  
> (I love you~~~)  
> (happy wiggles~~~~)


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